The end justifies the means
by Seyi
Summary: A Dixon-centered fic. Bitter and enraged after the murder of his wife, Dixon decides to take matters into his own hands, and joins up with a shocking ally in his revenge. From last season, BTW. R&R, Dixon fans! (and non-fans) PLEASE!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias or its affiliates in any way.  
  
Rating: PG-13- may up that In future chapters.  
  
I am tired of seeing the same old Syd/Vaughn Syd/Sark Jack/Irina fics. NOTHING wrong with them, but I wanted to see a Dixon-centered fic- not many of those are out there, although he is DA BOMB. His character is so hard to figure out, please help me in any way you can.  
  
Marcus Dixon sat in the shadowy, warm recess of his car, in a dark, deserted alleyway, one of the holes of LA- a vile section. Idly, he watched the few street vagrants that dared to walk the streets at such an hour. The tiny, confined space of the vehicle was filled with the heavy scent of sweat and ashes, filling him with a vague sense of nausea which he tried to ignore; but it intensified in spite of his efforts. He rolled down the window, leaned out and vomited onto the cobblestones.  
  
This is what hell must feel like, he thought, managing to sit up, supporting himself against the steering wheel. Wiping his mouth, he glanced at the clock.  
  
3:11 in the morning.  
  
With a sigh, he flipped down the visor and stared at his reflection musingly. The skin on his face and around his mouth was slack and streaked with dirt and sweat; his normally warm brown skin looked mottled and gray. Even his hair was coated with a thin layer of sooty dust.  
  
Reflexively, he reached up to his hair with his hand; then he froze, raising both up to eye level. They were both covered with tiny blisters, some which had broken open, the blood and water making rivulets in the soot that had turned them black. He immediately felt his gorge rise again, and heaved, emptying his stomach of any remnants. He then wrapped his hands in his handkerchief, ripping it in half with his teeth, and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.  
  
******************************************  
  
"Michael?"  
  
"Mmmph?"  
  
Sydney Bristow sat up in her bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders and flipping on the bedside light, her face furrowed. She flipped open her cell phone, and then the bedroom light, slipping noiselessly into the hall to check her caller I.D. she placed it back on the table, her face troubled. Vaughn slid up silently behind her, hair tousled, eyes sleepy, dressed in only a pair of pajama bottoms. "He still hasn't called?"  
  
"No." Sydney shook her head, trying in a desperate attempt to clear the night's images from her mind. After Diane's jeep had exploded, ricocheting across the parking lot in a ball of flames, Dixon had gone nearly ballistic. In spite of Sydney and Vaughn's attempts to hold him back before the police arrived, he'd managed to get close enough to the fire to singe his hands, forearms, and forehead in a superhuman attempt to get to his wife.  
  
When he finally was restrained by police, it took a horrible three hours of intensive questioning by both the police and CIA agents before either he, Vaughn, or Sydney had been released for the night. After questioning, he bolted to his car, ignoring orders to stop, and drove off into the night. He managed to lose the police within minutes, and no one had seen him since.  
  
"Vaughn...God." in those two words, all of Sydney's unspoken fears surfaced. When the police had returned to the station, their faces grim, Sydney knew that they thought there was any way Marcus Dixon would not have killed himself. She turned and braced both hands against his warm, bare chest, leaning into him. "I don't want to start crying again," she said against his skin, her voice muffled.  
  
Vaughn stroked her hair. "I'm sure he'll turn up," he said in a hushed tone.  
  
"Its not even that so much as...." she looked up at him "Is there any doubt in your mind who did it?"  
  
Vaughn sighed.  
  
"There's no way Sloane wouldn't have got to him, the sonofabitch...not after what happened to Emily....God, I want him DEAD."  
  
Vaughn hoisted himself up to the countertop, taking Sydney with him. "Don't worry," he said consolingly. "The CIA is doing everything it can and-"  
  
They were interrupted when Francie padded into the kitchen, looking like a little girl in her pink tank top and matching pajama shorts, her hair in pigtails. "I thought I heard some noise in here," she said.  
  
When she saw Sydney, who was nestled across Vaughn's chest, she moved across the kitchen quickly, wrapping her arms around Sydney's neck. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said, Sydney having told her and Will most of the story on their post-midnight return from the restaurant.  
  
She gently stroked Sydney's chin, and Sydney hugged her back gratefully, entirely missing the predatory flash in her eyes. "I'll make us some tea, okay?"  
  
She moved away from Sydney and began heating water on the stove in a small kettle. "He was such a nice guy, too," she said. "I met him at your Halloween party last year, remember? Whatever terrorist bastard did that should be shot."  
  
Will came out as well, rubbing his eyes. "You said it," he remarked, giving Sydney a signifigant look. Although he couldn't discuss the full ramifications of the "accident" in front of Francie, his suspicions were the same as everyone else's. Vaughn returned to Sydney's bedroom long enough to pull on a shirt, and the four sat close together on the couch, unable to sleep, sipping the sweet, hot peppermint tea that Francie had made.  
  
The knock on the door startled them all, but it was Will who made it there first, pulling it open. "Oh...hi, Mr. Dixon," he stammered, stepping back when he noted the man's appearance. In between his crumpled, stained suit, his bleeding hands and blistered face, his bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, and the vague, cold, disquiet expression he wore, Dixon looked completely opposite from the impeccable agent that had reported to work that morning.  
  
He looked like a battered man.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Tippen," he said, low. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but is Sydney-"  
  
"Dixon?" Sydney ran down the hall, stopping short at the sight of her partner standing in the doorway. "God, Dixon...I'm glad to see you." She put her arms around him, trying to offer some comfort, but she fond him rigid and unmoving, though he half-heartedly tried to return her hug with one hand. She led him into the house. Vaughn immediately rose from the couch, Francie having retreated tactfully to her bedroom.  
  
"Dixon," he said, reaching out grab the man's shoulder. "I'm so sorry- you gave us quite a scare-"  
  
Dixon nodded quickly, as if to ward off any further conversation. "I'm fine," he said, and Vaughn dropped his hand. "I thank you. Sydney, my kids- "  
  
"Are still with your sister-in-law," Sydney finished for him. "Don't worry, I called her and told her you had an emergency and couldn't pick them up tonight, she..doesn't know anything else, and neither do the boys..I though that you might want to-"  
  
"Yes," Dixon cut her off abruptly, sagging on the couch. "Thank you," he said again, his tone completely desolate, his body looking like it lacked even the most basic strength. He buried his face in his hands, making no noise, but Sydney saw his shoulders fall rise rapidly, one, two, three times. Then he lifted his head. His eyes were dry, but so vacant that they frightened Sydney.  
  
"Sydney," he said, woodenly. "I have no business asking this, but may I use your shower? I need to wash up before I get the boys, or I'll scare them to death-" he gestured to his clothes, face and hands. "I really don't see myself going home right now, and-"  
  
"Of course." Sydney jumped to her feet. "You know where it is, right?"  
  
"I'll get you something to wear," Vaughn volunteered, heading for the bedroom.  
  
"There's no way anything of yours will fit him, man. Let me-" and Will hurried out behind him, glad to have something to do.  
  
Dixon headed for Sydney's bathroom and stepped in the shower, increasing the heat till the water pounded down on his body like hot, slippery needles. He turned his hands up to the flow, welcoming the stinging pain that made his fingers throb as the blisters broke, and the blood and soot washed away. Finally, he slid down to the tub floor, threw his head back, and let out a blood-chilling scream that could be heard only faintly over the sound of the water.  
  
Dixon stayed in that position for an innumerable amount of time, until the water grew icy and the flow grew weak. He looked up when he heard tapping on the door, then hoisted himself to his feet, climbed out, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked to the door and pulled it open.  
  
Vaughn was on the other side, holding a small stack of clothing in his hands. "Um...I hope you don't mind wearing a hockey jersey, but you're pretty much bigger in the shoulders than Will or I, and-"  
  
Dixon accepted the pile quickly, interrupting Vaughn. "Thanks, it should be fine." He closed the door, and emerged from the bathroom a couple minutes later, dressed in Vaughn's Islanders jersey and a loose pair of Will's sweats. He walked into the living room, where the rest of them were still assembled. All conversation halted when he came into the room.  
  
Vaughn was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence by saying, "Everything fit okay?"  
  
"Yes. Thanks again. Syd, I'm going to go now- I'd better get to my sister- in-law's."  
  
"Of course." Sydney stood up to walk him to the door, then caught a glimpse of his hands. "Dixon....your hands..."  
  
He looked down at them. The blood was gone, but the skin was split in many places, and the blisters had formed tiny open sores due to the scouring the water had given them. "It's...nothing. I'll be fine."  
  
"Mr. Dixon, you really should put some ointment or something on them- they could get infected, you know," Francie added, appearing from the shadows, her eyes glowing strangely. Sydney looked at her, startled by the expression on Francie's face as she hurried to the kitchen.  
  
Francie returned with a thick tube of ointment, which she twisted open and squeezed a small amount onto his palms. "Just rub them together," she said. "I use this stuff when I get cut in the restaurant all the time." She turned back to the kitchen, no one noticing the tiny sneer on her face.  
  
"Thank you..for everything." Dixon said quietly to Sydney at the door.  
  
"Call me, okay?"  
  
"I will." He turned and headed for the walk.  
  
"And....Dixon?"  
  
He turned around.  
  
"Are you going to be okay?"  
  
He gave her an attempt at a half-smile, though his eyes were painful to look into, wracked with guilt and sadness. "I think so....I've got to go. The boys...."  
  
She nodded and waved him down the walk, watching as his headlights disappeared into the dim light of the early morning. Relieved, she went to her bedroom, climbing into the warm, clean-smelling space next to Vaughn, and drifted of into a troubled sleep, peppered with disturbing images of her mother and Sloane. 


	2. Back to work

Disclaimer: I own it ALL!! ALL!! HA HA HA HA HA *  
  
Rating: PG-13 for language, slight violence and a bitta smut.  
  
Sydney walked slowly into the CIA office, rubbing her eyes and straightening the lapels of her navy blue Chanel jacket. She scowled as she looked down at the wrinkles, but there was nothing she could do about it. Diane's funeral had been that morning, and after delivering an eulogy that had brought most of the audience to tears, she'd run off to the security of her own home and spent over an hour curled up on the sofa, crying over her mother's picture.  
  
Two hours later, she'd erased the circles under her eyes with a thick coat of Cover Girl, and reduced the tear-induced swelling with an application of cucumber and ice water, but nothing could erase the hollow look on her face. Vaughn noticed it as soon as he walked in the door. "You okay?" he asked, quietly, stepping up close to her. The agents around them averted their eyes.  
  
"I think so. Where's Dixon?"  
  
"I saw him going into conference with Kendall and your father around four- didn't think he was coming in today, though."  
  
"Neither did I." she gave him a peck on the cheek and headed off in the direction of Dixon's desk.  
  
She didn't see him sitting there, but she did see a half-finished cup of coffee and Marshall, who was tossing some things from the top of his desk into a plastic Gap bag. She sneaked up behind him. "Um....Marshall?"  
  
Marshall jumped up about ten feet, dropping the contents of the bag on the floor. He scrambled to pick them up.  
  
"Oh...Marshall, I'm sorry." She knelt to help him, then cocked one eyebrow. "Why are you in Dixon's desk in the first place?"  
  
"Well........" Marshall looked uncomfortable for a minute, then bumbled on. "Mr. Dixon was cleaning out the desk....personal photos and stuff from before...you know, the accident, so I offered to do it." He paused and looked at his feet. "Figured it was the least I could do, y'know?"  
  
Sydney smiled, touched his shoulder lightly, and left the room. She caught sight of Dixon in the corridor ahead, still dressed impeccably in the dark Armani he'd worn for the morning funeral, his face tight. Jack was standing opposite him, the expression on his face mirroring Dixon's. Sydney approached quietly, so as to interrupt when she heard a break, and she caught the ending half of a very interesting conversation.  
  
"....have anyone you can send them to?" Kendall was asking.  
  
"My brother in Oregon, Alistair Dixon," Dixon answered.  
  
"The CIA has no record of him as a family member of yours." Kendall said, in a surprised tone.  
  
"You do, under the name Father Samuel Grant. He legally changed his name years ago, when he was eighteen. My parents weren't too keen on his taking the priesthood, and he left Minnesota that same year. He lives in a small town outside Portland, very quiet place. He'd be happy to take them."  
  
Kendall lost his voice for a moment, undoubtedly shocked at the very idea of his precious CIA's not knowing something. Characteristically, however, he found it in less than half a minute. "So you've been lying on your background check."  
  
"No," Dixon's voice was frayed, indicating his waning patience. "I haven't exactly been ASKed if I have any family members who took the priesthood, changed their names, and moved to Oregon on my background check, to the best of my knowledge."  
  
Kendall opened his mouth but was cut off sharply by Jack. "What Dixon did with his background check is irrelevant," he snapped. "Please go on, Agent Dixon."  
  
Dixon ignored the dirty look that Kendall shot Jack and continued accordingly. "If my children have to go into witness protection, I'd rather it be with someone I know. If I can't speak to them for months or even years, I want them to be with someone I trust, who'll raise them right."  
  
"Are you close to your brother?" Jack asked.  
  
"Not as much as I should be, perhaps...but I trust him infinitely."  
  
Kendall broke in again. "Impossible. Witness protection policy states that- "  
  
Jack cut him off again. "Actually, Agent Kendall, think of the advantages. Agent Dixon's children will be with a relative, and if the CIA knew nothing of him, I think there's a very slim possibility that anyone else will. SD-6 knew nothing, according to its employee files. Both will become Grants, no questions asked, due to Mr. Grant's present surname."  
  
"Who will they be?"  
  
"Long-lost nephew and niece, of course," Jack was warming to his subject. "They already know Mr. Grant as their uncle, I'm assuming?"  
  
"He sends them cards every year, and money and things on their birthdays," Dixon replied. "They've never actually met him, though. I haven't seen him since before they were born, myself."  
  
Jack nodded. "Except for the change of name, they should adjust well. We'll need to do a background check on your brother and get him to sign some things, but otherwise-"  
  
"When are we going after Sloane?"  
  
Jack blinked. "Excuse me?"  
  
Dixon raised his eyes upward and repeated himself, talking VERY slowly. "I said, When. Are. We. Going. After----"  
  
"I heard you." Jack gave him an irritated look. "Agent Dixon, we still haven't proven it's him, and-"  
  
"Bullshit." Sydney flinched at the sound of his voice, as well as his choice of language. "You KNOW he did it."  
  
"Dixon, it's not as simple as that. We have a team going in, and-"  
  
"The same 'team' that took down SD-6 ONLY after a decade and a half?" Dixon's voice had grown harsh and sarcastic, rising with every syllable. "PLEASE." He tossed up his hands.  
  
"Agent Dixon, please calm yourself...."  
  
"Excuse me, please." Dixon stalked down the hall, followed by Kendall, who was hopping along trying to catch him at quite an undignified pace.  
  
Sydney sucked in her breath and tried to make a hasty exit, but wasn't quick enough. Jack nearly crashed into her. He gave her a tense look and hurried off into the other direction, obviously harried. Sydney twisted first to the left, then to the right, trying to decide whether to go to her father, or to Dixon. She hurried off after Jack, bursting into his office.  
  
"Um, Dad?" Jack was typing at something, seemingly not hearing. "Dad?" she moved closer. "DAD!"  
  
He jumped slightly, but regained his composure in less than a second. "Sydney. You startled me."  
  
"Dad," Sydney sat on one of the office chairs. "What's going on with Dixon now?"  
  
Jack barely looked up. "Eavesdroppers seldom hear good of themselves," he quipped dryly.  
  
Sydney gave him a put-out look. "Dad..."  
  
Jack looked up and sighed. "Sydney, I know you're concerned," he said. "Dixon has been a fine partner to you, as well as a close friend, and I want to assure you that we're doing everything we can."  
  
"Dad," Sydney's voice was tight. "Please don't coddle me." She looked down at her hands, knotted tightly in her lap. "You know, all this stuff that has happened? I somehow always bring it back to Mom. If she hadn't...." she shook her head, unable to speak.  
  
Jack looked at her intently for a long moment; then he spoke. "You really can't think that, can you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sloane is an evil man, Sydney. He did what he felt he had to do in order to get revenge for Emily's death. I doubt your mother had anything to do with it."  
  
Sydney stared at her father in shock at this unexpected defense of her mother, silent. He paused for a minute; then continued. "Agent Dixon is...very grieved, as one might expect. The man is enraged, Sydney. I believe that if he had a chance to kill Sloane, he would....in spite of any and ALL consequences. I'm worried for his mental health, especially in the field."  
  
Sydney found her voice. "What do you mean, 'in the field?' He just buried his wife this morning. He can't be back at work already."  
  
"He is. He told me that he wants to be involved in any missions against Sloane, and he isn't taking time off until the man is brought to justice. I fear that his passion may compromise his effectiveness. His focus is warped."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I mean, that instead of hunting Sloane for the good of the United States, he's hunting him for personal reasons. That may cloud his judgment."  
  
Sydney gave her father an incredulous look. "Dad, I'm sorry to say this, but that is the MOST hypocritical statement I've ever heard you make. Why do you think I'M going after Sloane? It IS a personal hunt, Dad. And what about you? You always are-"  
  
Jack halted his daughter's outburst with an outstretched palm. "Sydney Lauren Bristow!" he said in a frustrated tone. "First of all, PLEASE refrain from raising your voice while in my office, and-"  
  
He halted, and Sydney froze as well, both of them coming to the same realization. Jack hadn't called Sydney by her full name in over eleven years.  
  
Shocked into silence, Sydney could only stare, and Jack continued in a forcibly milder tone. "I mean, Sydney," he said, "surely you have heard of Newton's third law of motion?"  
  
"To every action, there is a visible reaction," Sydney said without a hint of sarcasm. "But I don't see what that has to do with-"  
  
Jack cut her off smoothly. "I'm worried about Dixon's reaction, Sydney. It's inevitable. It's coming. I want to protect him as well as protect the integrity of this agency."  
  
Sydney stood up, signaling the end of their conversation. "I'm going to find him and talk to him."  
  
Jack shook his head slightly, but didn't attempt to stop her. "Please tell Dixon to report for psychiatric evaluation with Dr. Barrett in twenty minutes, when you see him."  
  
"The man just buried his wife today. You can't possibly think of-"  
  
"If he can report to work today, he can be evaluated today," Jack said, his clipped tone betraying his building impatience. "Please obey my request."  
  
Sydney stood and banged open the door as she exited, but she went to find Vaughn first. Standing in a small alcove outside her office, she told him everything. "They're never going to let him help them find her," she concluded. "Dixon will never be at peace until he's caught."  
  
"It'll be okay," Vaughn said, softly, not knowing what other comfort to give her. He bent and kissed her on the lips gently, first tracing them with a finger. "I really love you, you know that?" he murmured.  
  
Sydney smiled in spite of her anxiety. "Yes," she said. "I do." She leaned in for another kiss, glad for the slight privacy the alcove gave them. Vaughn's hands began to trail from her face to her shoulders.  
  
They were interrupted when Weiss walked by, looking in the other direction. "Watch out, kids," he muttered. "Kendall coming in five..four....three....two...." Kendall appeared just as the two managed to pull apart. "Agent Bristow," Kendall said, looking furious, "have you seen Agent Dixon?"  
  
"Um, no. what's wrong?"  
  
"He went MIA when he found out about the evaluation Dr. Barrett has to give him before he can resume work. We can't find him now." He looked at the pair suspiciously, as if they might have had something to do with it. When both faces looked completely blank, he gave them a disgusted look. "If you see him, put him under a citizen's arrest until we get to him." With that, he stalked down the hall.  
  
Sydney sighed and headed for her desk.  
  
GO AND REVIEW THIS CHAPTER NOW PLEASE!!!!!  
  
* I DON'T "OWN IT ALL,"- I WAS UNDER THE INFLUENCE WHEN I WROTE THAT. 


	3. Freelancer

Disclaimer: Do not own, will not steal, do not sue, do not kill.

Rating: PG-13- for _now._

_"__Dixon__?"_

Sydney could barely believe her eyes. Dixon had called her an hour before, asking her to meet him downtown, in an alley alongside small, seedy diner by the docks, on condition that she come by herself, and not tell anyone. "Sydney," he had said, his voice like steel, "when I was taken out of SD-6, you said you owed me a favor, since you hadn't told me about your double agent status. I'm calling the favor in now."

Properly guilted, she agreed not to tell anyone and had headed for the diner in a borrowed car.  She had arrived five minutes early, looked around the diner, and sneaked into the alleyway. When Dixon had arrived, face hidden by a low-pulled black cabbie cap and black high-collar jacket, she hadn't even recognized him.

"Hello, Sydney." His voice was grim, and he stood opposite her, his face half-hidden in the shadows.

Sydney got right to the point. "You know that by all accounts, I'm supposed to arrest you and bring you in right now."

"You won't do that," Dixon said, so calmly that it was almost frightening. "I'll let you kill me before I do that."

Sydney dropped her professional façade and looked her friend in the eye. "Dixon, I know how frustrated you are, but- please, come back with me. I'll put in a good word for you- we'll make up something, so you won't get punished. The CIA can help you, they're doing everything they can, and intelligence you have will be very helpful in-"

"Sydney," Dixon said, tiredly. "It's not going to work. Stop trying to convince me."

Sydney fell silent.

"I just called you here this evening to inform you I'm going freelance on this case- and to tell you goodbye. I felt that it was due you, having been my partner- and friend- for so long. I also wanted to give you the opportunity to join me, if you wanted."

Sydney shook her head. "Dixon, I could never-"

Dixon cut her off. "Sydney, it could take years before the CIA catches Sloane, if ever, and even then-" he shook his head. "There's always a chance for a presidential pardon, especially if he gives the CIA valuable information. "

"I know, Dixon, but-"

"Sydney." His voice was gentle, but firm. "I'm not _going_ to wait."

Sydney looked up, into Dixon's eyes. His voice was soft and emotionless, but his eyes- they looked equally cold, and hot, burning up with cool, primal……rage. She actually sat back. 

"Look at what he's done to you, to your family," Dixon's low monotone was as mesmerizing as it was scary.  "To his own _wife, for God's sake!_"

"Dixon……"

"He deserves……" Dixon shook his head. "I won't lie to you, Sydney. I want revenge. I want to grab him by the throat, completely at my mercy, and look him in the eyes, and ask….why."

"Oh, God," Sydney murmured, her head flooding with painful thoughts, memories……Sloane.....her mother…..Sark….oh, _God_.

Dixon watched her musingly for a minute, as her head swirled with thoughts. When he spoke, his tone was low and flat. "I have some international contacts, Sydney."

Her head snapped up.

"Yes. All contacts that the CIA might find too……controversial to use." 

"Why….how….?"

"That doesn't matter," Dixon said with a sigh. "I hate to use them, myself. But if I'm going to find Sloane- I really don't have a choice. My main contact has worked with Sloane in the past, and the intelligence she has is…..disquieting, at best. I'm sure, that for a little exchange, she'd gladly…."

"You would give up CIA intelligence?" Sydney gasped. Was this _Dixon_she was speaking to?

"To catch Sloane, I'd _do _anything," Dixon said, coolly. 

"Dixon….God. what happened to your patriotism?"

"My family comes before all that, Syd. And yours would, too, if you thought about it." When her expression proved unyielding, he sighed again, then continued, his voice like ice. "Sydney, I gave nearly two decades of my life to fighting for what I _thought _was my country, and when the truth was revealed, found out that the CIA  had allowed me to continue that charade for much of that time, while they- and my partner- looked on. I'm tired of being fooled and manipulated, Sydney."

Sydney looked at the floor.

"I owe the CIA nothing, and Syd- I really have to do this on my own."

There was total silence for a few minutes, save for the evening breeze, whistling atop the building roof. Sydney shivered. When had it gotten so cold?

"I have to leave soon," Dixon said simply, as if the passionate, bitter words he'd spat out a minute ago had never been said. "Are you with me?"

Sydney knew she couldn't, although now she understood, somewhat, at least. "I'm sorry, Dixon."

Dixon nodded, as if that had been the reaction he expected. "I have to go now." He stepped forward, pulling Sydney into his arms, hugging her tightly. He released her, then gave her a wan smile. "Keep an eye out for my kids, will you?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

He smiled again, tilting his head to the side. "I've often thought of you as a daughter, or at least a student, you know that?" he said. "Remember, I love you, Syd. Whatever happens- it happens. It's been fun." He chucked her lightly under the chin, then turned and left the alley.

Sydney wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and squeezed them shut, trying to regain her composure. Then she flipped her watch over, speaking into it.

"Director Kendall, Dad? I've got those coordinates….."

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